


The Unknown Soldiers

by miss_umbra



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_umbra/pseuds/miss_umbra
Summary: Freshly 18, Jason doesn’t have a lot of options. It is the late 1960's, and every able-bodied man has been drafted for the war.Dick Grayson is a jaded, discharged ex-soldier. The diner he busboy’s at it just about the only place that would take him.Jason is alone and scared, with no one to lean on, no one worth staying alive to come home to. Dick offers a solution: write to me, Little Wing.





	1. Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from the song [Unknown Soldier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mycV3IcQNPQ) by The Doors. (I just realized the music video I linked may be disturbing to some-graphic depictions of the horrors of war. So trigger warning for that music video link)

“Hey Dick” the red-headed peeked around the corner. She was wearing the frilly striped dress all the waitresses at the diner had to wear, and she looked frazzled. Normally it took a lot to stress out police commissioner’s daughter, so Dick knew things must be hectic out there.

 

“I’m going to need a new bottle of ketchup for table 3. Also parties at 2 and 4 just left. There was a toddler at 4 and um you might wanna bring an extra wet towel.”

 

The busboy flashed his friend a lazy grin. “Is that all?”

 

Barbara raised her eyebrows and gave him a hard stare. “For the booster chair. The seat part.” Dick still didn’t get it. “The tike wasn’t eating pudding, if you catch my meaning.”

 

Oh. Gross.

 

“That’s right.” Bab’s shook her head and tutted. “You should ask Mr. Pennyworth for a raise after this.”

 

Dick, who had already started wheeling out his cart, paused. “I’m not going to do that. It’s bad enough I had to accept his charity for this job, I’m not going to mooch off any more”

 

“Dick....” Barbara trailed off, not knowing what to say. Then she jerked up, as though just realizing something. “Today’s Sunday. You know what that means?” Barbara winked “Your booooooyfriend is coming in,” she sang. “Bye bye.”

 

Dick flushed a little then scowled. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

 

“I said bye bye!” And with that, the waitress winked again and ducked back out onto the busy cafe floor. Dick sighed and grabbed a spare towel and basin of warm soapy water. He shouldn’t even be here.

 

 

——

 

“Did you hear about what happened over at the university?”

 

Dick hung back, listening to the men talk. They were both middle-aged. One was eating a turkey club, the other a BLT, hold the ‘t’. Dick knew exactly what incident these men were talking about, and didn’t want to be in firing range of unsolicited opinions and questions for the crime of being a twenty-three year old male. 

 

“Sure did!” No-Tomatoes put down his sandwich, as though the topic required his full attention. “Kids have no understanding of what it means to be an American. Protesting the war! I did my part, back in the Second World War. Commies, they don’t care how many flowers you pick, or how long you grow your hair. They are a coming.”

 

Dick lifted a hand to toy with the soft dark tresses that were creeping down his. neck. He should have known. People that age usually have the same thing to say about it. Well this wasn’t the 1940’s, and this wasn’t their war.

 

“It seems everyone’s got long hair these days,” T.C. chimed in. “With flowers in it. Saw Jack’s boy the other day. Wearing a dress. Tunic, he says. It’s a dress. I don’t know you’re supposed to tell who’s a man or a women anymore.”

 

Dick’s knuckles whitened as he gripped hard on the cart. These men may have went to war 25 years ago, but what gave them the right to comment on current affairs? His peers were dying. People younger than him, even. The so-called childish protest at Gotham U? Two people had died. Peaceful protesters slaughtered by so-called riot police. This wasn’t their war. Dick’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. There wasn’t enough air, there was nothing but the smell the gasoline and gunpowder and blood. He had to get out of there. Had to run! His shoulder was numb as usual, but a phantom pain shot through it. Dick ran to the supply closet and slumped against the back of the shut door. He should have done more.

 

“Damn you B, I should still be over there. I should still be over there, or I should have died.”


	2. Jason

Jason frowned into the mirror. He wet his hand, and dragged it through his dark curls in a futile attempt to get them to lay flat.

 

“Willis? Aren’t you ready yet?”

 

The 17 year old boy didn’t know why he even bothered. He could grow his hair out and flip it like Patti Boyd and his mother would still be too strung out to notice a damn thing.

 

“It’s Jason, mom.”

 

Catherine blinked. Jason sighed and helped his mother into her shoes.

 

“ _ _Willis__ isn’t around anymore, remember?” Jason pointedly refused to call his father anything but his first name. He hadn’t done anything anytime lately to earn Jason’s respect or the title. “The old man’s doing his hard time in the big house.”

 More blinking.

“He’s in jail, Ma.”

Jason watched her nod, and held his breath as her blanket of confusion melted away. “Today’s Sunday. You know what that means?”

 

Jason would have figured he’d be used to this by now. His mother would have long periods of time where she was almost catatonic. She would stare into space, often mumbling to herself or to Willis or to the heck knows who else. When she got like that, Jason would have to be the one to bathe her, cook for her. Make sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit or bite off her own tongue. Whatever else a teenage boy did when his mother was too high to take care of herself.

 

Jason dropped out of high school for this. He began doing odd jobs to earn money, and eventually, after Willis had gone to jail and was out of the picture, Jason started stealing and pulling the occasional con to earn the rest. He didn’t sell drugs. As lucrative as it could be, especially in Crime Alley. That’s one thing Jason swore he’d never mess with.

 

One may argue that he couldn’t really afford it, but Sunday lunch at Pennyworth’s was the one thing he had to look forward to.

On Tuesday when he was running from the thug he’d just hustled, Jason would envision a big plate of Pennyworth’s shepard’s pie.

On Thursday, when he was using a wet face cloth to pat the dried blood from under his mother’s nose, he’d recall how his mom sang along to a song from her youth playing at the diner.

On Friday, the thug from Tuesday (or maybe another one, who’s keeping track?) caught up to him, and Jason took the beating with a grin while staring at the sky, which was the exact shade as that busboy’s eyes.

 

"I'm all ready, Mom. Now who's in the mood for some roast beef? My treat."

 


End file.
